Spring blues

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Spring, 2011 ~

Some of the waterfowl we see in Minnesota spends part of its winter in the areas most affected by the BP oil spill of last year. When the herons and egrets left last fall, I worried their nesting places would be filled with toxins, and that few might survive to return.

Apparently, my worry was ill-founded; at various times this afternoon, there were groups of three to five Great Blue Herons gathering the wetland behind our house.

It is good to see you, blue.

Mike

© 2011 Mike Anderson, St. Michael, MN. All rights reserved.

Hiding in plain sight

Spring, 2010 ~

I am accustomed to seeing Great Blue Herons perched in trees, high above the riverside. This spring, I have seen several smaller Egrets near our house, as the unusually rapid thaw left the nearby wetland particularly saturated... and attractive to the long-legged birds.

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As the water from the snowmelt receded, it left behind islands of grass that seem particularly well suited to Egrets, both for nesting and for camoflauge. I have heard their distinct, muffled "croak," but until today, I had not actually seen the bird amidst the brush. Early this morning, after peering toward the wetland for a half hour or so, I finally spotted movement, and confirmed that two of the birds were living nearby.

In the picture above, if you look closely, you’ll find one of them hiding in plain sight. (If you wish, click on the photo to enlarge the image.)

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Meadow Lake

Early spring, 2010 ~

Usually, the open land adjacent to our home is part wetland and part meadow, depending on the season and the amount of rain we have received. But this spring, the snowmelt came with such swiftness that, for a time, the wetland became a full-fledge lake.

I am impressed with the way landscape, if allowed, will make its own contribution to flood control.

Dad would have enjoyed this view.

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Iced fog

Late winter 2009/2010 ~

It was an unusual sequence of weather. After weeks of below normal temperatures—the kind of deep cold that can make winter seem torturous and long—we had enjoyed a day of unseasonable warmth. The rays of sunlight actually felt warm… a sensation I had not felt since late fall. Melting snow dripped from the rooftops, and a few blades of grass could be seen peeking through the receding snow, in places where the wind had kept snowdrifts from forming.

That evening, just as the sun was sinking into the west, a low bank of clouds moved in, cloaking the sky for as far as the eye could see. That kind of cloud cover has the effect of a blanket, sealing in whatever warmth was created by the day. But it wouldn’t last. The clouds would be pushed quickly through the area by a high pressure system, like a snow-plow shoving snow from a highway. Behind it, the sky would clear and temperatures would once again plummet, as often happens when a weather system comes to call from the far north.

The next morning, the view from our back door was near stunning… a result of the dramatic swing in temperatures. The day before, the sun’s warmth created pools of water from the melting snow; puddles that had now been frozen in their tracks, before they had a chance to run for the river. Overnight, the warm water that had turned to steam sought to climb back into the sky and rejoin its fellow clouds. But the suppressive cold of early morning kept the fog from rising more than twenty or thirty feet into the air. It was if the haze was hitting an invisible ceiling that covered the meadow, and did not have the strength to break through. Never before had I seen such a well-defined patch of fog, allowing a crystal-clear view of the meadow in the foreground, and easy sight of the treetops in the distant background, perhaps a half-mile away. It was as if the energy of the fog had been sapped by the chill... suspending it somewhere between ground and sky. Eventually, the haze would fall back to the ground as frost.

Winter, you have won this battle, but you will not win the war. Spring is not far away, and it will bring a sun which rises higher and longer, delivering a more direct, radiant beam. Eventually, the moisture that has been confined as ice and snow will be warmed to the point that it will be freed… to become the river, lake or cloud it aspires to be.

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.